


Chains (Re)imagined

by Fooeyburr



Series: Chains [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Billford - Freeform, Human!Bill, M/M, Weirdmageddon, also mindfuck and trippy narration, and as you probably know if you've read the original Chains, revision of an old fic, this is less smut and more grit than the original, this one has a bad end, triangle!Bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:37:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fooeyburr/pseuds/Fooeyburr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When wrong becomes irresistibly right, all it takes to give in is for right to become unbearably wrong.</p><p>A revision/reveal chapter of Chains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chains (Re)imagined

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Some of you might remember Chains, my first ever fanfic that I wrote amidst the first wave of trailer-induced Billford kinkshaming as well as the finale madness. I’m largely unhappy with how it turned out as there was a lot going on in canon that changed the course of the story during the writing process, plus it was the first thing I’d written in three and a half years so I was a bit rusty (I still am, more or less). Also, I left the ending vague in hopes people would be encouraged to discuss it with me, but alas, it didn’t work, and I’m not sure if people even caught on the subtle hints that something else was up behind the scenes. Too subtle is too subtle I guess. ^^;
> 
> So! I wrote this, a revised version of the story from a slightly different viewpoint that shows the actual events behind what was portrayed in the original version. Reading the original isn’t required, but it gives a lot more to operate with. If you’re up for a read, you can find it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5815081/chapters/13400467).

Ford knew from the very beginning that it wasn’t real. He knew this, and yet nothing had ever felt as real as the hand caressing his neck.

“You want this.”

It wasn’t real. _He_ wasn’t real.

The soft, thin lips teasing his weren’t real. The glowing, golden eye framed by long lashes wasn’t real. The devouring hunger in its depth wasn’t real.

Yet he couldn’t stop his pulse from quickening when that warm, very unreal body pressed flush against his, every small stirring motion waking shivers and sensations that were _so painfully real_.

“You know you want this, Sixer.”

No.

“I can _feel_ how much you want this.”

No. _He can’t feel. He isn’t even capable of feeling. This is not him. He doesn’t feel._ But Ford did, he felt every lingering touch, every hot breath dropping lower, the pounding in his chest, a tongue straying from between the curved lips and -

A wave of excruciating pain crashed into him, and his lips caught the taste of fresh blood trickling down his face from just below his hairline. The harrowing sensation violently replaced the far more pleasant one from only a moment before, causing him to gasp for air as if being released from underwater. Unable to tell where he was for a moment, he strained against the shackles that were holding him aloft.

“Whoa, okay!” Bill’s loud voice drilled through his eardrums. “Well, color me surprised and call me Lucy! I walk into your mind expecting to run into your annoying little family or something, and instead I’m met with _myself_ wearing a silly fleshsuit, engaging in that squishy fleshy business that you humans are all about? _That’s_ your deepest desire? Hoo boy, Fordsy, that is something I did not see coming, not even from you!”

Ford grimaced as sharp laughter grated at his pulsating headache. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m awfully flattered! Although I don’t understand why turning me into a meatsack is necessary. Are you saying you’re not up for _this_?” Bill made gestures at his triangular body. “Rude!”

Ford didn’t answer; his wavering gaze was glued to the torn piece of metal tossed on the floor beside him. It was covered in blood, and the sight made his stomach heave.

Bill seemed unconcerned by his state of distraction. “And ungrateful, too! I’m made of gold, baby! Literally! Yeesh, why do you mortals have to be so damn egotistic in your fleshy needs? And you, my misguided human friend, just take the cake in that department! Prioritizing your own lusty dreams over your family’s safety? Cold, Stanford! Makes me want to set you on fire to melt that sub-zero heart of yours! I almost feel bad for Fez and the lot.”

“What… have you done?” Ford rasped weakly, reeling with nausea. He had to avert his gaze from both the shredded metal and the vile look in Bill’s eye in order to not give in to the urge to vomit.

“Oh, that?” Bill snorted. “Hey, don’t blame me, you’re the one who messed with your own head in the first place. That’s just disrespectful to the way nature made you, and that metallic color didn’t match your eyes, anyway. Hey, at least you no longer have that nagging urge to travel to the polar areas, right?”

Ford snarled; he had to blink furiously to prevent the blood from getting in his eyes. “Let me go. You won’t get the equation like this. Not without a deal.”

“Oh, I know,“ Bill scoffed. “But all detours lead to Rome as you mortals say! Everything has a price, and for a weak and needy little animal like yourself the price seems to be…” He rolled his eye with a snort, twirling his cane around in his fingers, “Getting it on with a humanoid version of your old pal Bill here. Gross, but okay! Gives me something to work with.”

“Let me go,“ Ford repeated, yet knowing it was futile. The end of Bill’s cane was poking harshly at his pounding forehead.

“Ready for another round, Brainiac?”

“No, d-”

_Fireplace._

His eyes were fixed at the fireplace, and the warmth it emitted on his face contrasted with the chill of the chains binding him. Bill was gone.

He thought of Stanley and the children, and he thought of Bill, and his gut twisted with shame and guilt.

When the demon eventually returned, he was absolutely wasted from time punch and as freewheelingly happy as a tornado wreaking havoc in a trailer park.

He was a drunk, unrefined, bleary-eyed mess, but Ford couldn’t take his eyes off his strangely ethereal human form. It felt too real, the way he his body was simultaneously limp and charged with energy as he lay sprawled on his back, his golden eye locked on Ford’s, fingertips resting carelessly on the vaguely smiling mouth.

“You really can’t get enough of the sight of me, can you, Fordsy?”

No. _Don’t come closer._ He was too real to be true. _Don’t come closer._ Too real to be real. Too true, too perfect… No, no, no.

_Don’t._

“You can’t resist me.”

He didn’t resist. His breaths turned heavy and his heart was racing, there was a warm mouth pressed against his skin while fingers tugged at the hem of his sweater, and he didn’t resist, nothing was stopping him but he couldn’t resist. His mind was cloudy, filled with fog. Lips claimed his. No. Too perfect, a daydream, not real, not real. _Stop_. He willed it to stop.

“You can’t stop this.”

And then it got worse, so much worse.

“You don’t even want to stop it.”

He…didn’t want it to stop. He wanted it to never stop. He wanted to cease trying, just stop struggling against the seemingly inevitable, give in…

“A-nd cut!”

Ford was back in the penthouse, and this time he screamed, from both the searing pain in his head and the frustration that made his body writhe even as tears welled up in his eyes. He continued screaming until he ran out of air, and Bill laughed at his face the whole time.

“Oh, this is just priceless! _Priceless_ , I tell ya!”

Ford trembled; his body felt like it had been completely drained of all strength, and the ceaseless nausea made his vision sway. His face was slick with sweat, sticky with gradually drying blood.

Bill flicked a handful of something at him that, upon a closer look as it bounced onto the floor, turned out to be popcorn. “Jeez, Fordsy, seems like the past thirty years has stricken you with a mighty thirst! First you turn me into a meat puppet and then soak it in booze, ha! Seems like the drink we shared in the mindscape that one time went straight to your head and never left! In fact, I should peek in and see if it’s still there!”

Ford flinched when the black hand reached out for his horribly shredded scalp. Bill cackled. “Relax, buddy, I’m just messing with ya. I don’t need to stick my hand in that nasty mush to get your brain all scrambled up. And besides, you’re doing a decent job taking care of that yourself!”

“Bill, this is ridiculous,” Ford groaned. It pained his throat to speak. “Aside from humiliating me, you’ll achieve nothing with this. Nothing! Just… stop it already!”

Bill inspected his fingernails for a moment, humming. Then he looked at Stanford. “Nah.”

Sweet shivers at the heat of flesh, it felt so real, he _wanted_ -

He was dragged back to reality so abruptly that he couldn’t stop the longing moan on his lips from spilling forth. He cringed, his face burning as Bill’s eye glistened, sneering in amusement.

A breathy whisper blew against his ear. “Say it, Stanford. Say you want this…” It made his back arch, want, yearn, he couldn’t help -

“STOP!”

Ford was trembling again. The constant shifting between this reality and his fantasies was too much for his mind to take. His headache was so unbearable he feared he was going to break in half.

Bill’s expression remained calm. “That seems to be your go-to word today, but you don’t really mean it, _do you_? Hey, I don’t even have to read your mind to see you want this…” another flash of _not real not real_ alluring glow from amidst wispy blond hair, tip of a tongue reaching - “…to go on.” Ford whimpered like a small animal cornered by a predator. “After all, it’s so much better than feeling the night breeze against your exposed skull.” His fingers ghosted just barely above Ford’s forehead. “I must admit I’m intrigued by how laughably painful that must be. It’s a shame possession is no longer on the list!”

He settled his fingertips lightly on the sliced skin, indulging in Ford’s expression of silent agony for a few seconds before drawing back. “So anyway… How does that continuation sound? I can make it so you never have to throw a glance at this shoddy reality again. Just you, an awfully unrealistic version of me, and endless possibilities within your reach. Limitless knowledge, eternal life, an entire multiverse to travel with no boundaries, the - pardon me, but _ugh_ \- sappy romance you always wanted with yours truly, all the adoration and praise and caring and all that other jazz you could ever hope for, all yours! This is a deal of a lifetime, and I wouldn’t offer this to just anyone, mind ya! Hey, maybe you’re onto something with this whole lovey-dovey biz, pal!”

Ford growled, trembling with rage and mortification. “Keep talking as long as you want, Cipher, my family will be here any minute now. You’re going down as soon as they -”

“Oh, your FAMILY! Boy, am I glad you brought that one up! Sure, Stanford, let’s talk about your _family_.” Bill rubbed his hands together and his eye widened with enthusiasm. “Now, what family would you possibly be referring to, hm? The one you tore apart with that petty argument with your brother? That good-for-nothing brother, always expecting you to give up your dreams and goals for him? The brother who only loves you so that he could love himself? You want _that_ brother to come and rescue you? Let’s see about that, shall we?”

_Fireplace._

He waited. The silence haunted his mind, but he waited.

He waited.

Any minute now.

They’d crash in the moment he’d least expect it. They would release him from his chains, Bill would be defeated, and…

…

He waited.

He eventually lost track of how long he had waited.

Nobody came.

Suddenly he flinched at the sensation of Bill’s hand was resting against his cheek. “Well, no wonder! You’ve been away for thirty years. And in the meantime your brother took your name, your house, your life’s work from you. He was pretty well off without you, Stanford. He doesn’t _need_ you to be happy, not anymore. Did you really think he’d risk his own life and the kids just to rescue you for the second time? After you rewarded his thirty years’ worth of effort to bring you back by punching him in the face? Oh, I don’t think so, pal!”

“No,“ Ford muttered, his vision blurring with unshed tears. “No.”

“Look, just face the music. He’s moved on.”

“ _No_.”

Bill shrugged. “See for yourself, Brainy.”

He waited.

...

It had been so long. Too long.

He was getting tired of waiting.

Perhaps they won’t come at all.

...

They won’t come.

...

He thought of Bill.

Bill would return to him, sooner or later. That was a given.

So he waited.

For Bill.

“Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about! You know, it’s your own fantasy world so _technically_ they should’ve arrived sooner or later,” Bill jeered. “So whadya know, does this mean you didn’t really want them to come for you in the first place? Well, well! Seems like you’ve finally accepted your own worthlessness, Stanford. You can no longer even face your own family. They’re better off without you, and you’re better off without them. You know that by now, don’t you?”

A quiet sob forced its way through his lips. He felt numb, but not nearly enough to ignore his aching scalp. Every jab of pain was becoming more unbearable than the last.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He raised his eyes to Bill’s. “Please,“ he breathed, weakly.

Bill’s voice was calm. “Patience, Fordsy. Good things come to those who wait. Now, you look a little tired, am I right?”

“…yes.”

“Wanna take a nice little break from all this?”

“Yes.” His broken reply was barely audible, even to his own ears.

“Then give in. Sleep.”

…he slept.

When he woke up, Bill was there. The same unnervingly human, yet alluring illusion, unreal…

…No. He was… here. And Ford was here.

Ford wanted to stay where he was.

…Perhaps he should return, his common sense told him. Back to reality.

No. _No_. “You’re staying here.”

...huh?

There was a sound of glass shattering. The rattle of chess pieces rolling across the floor.

“You’re not going back.” There was a confusing mix of both anger and affection in Bill’s voice, followed by a hand gripping his knee. “I’ll keep you here. You’re mine. My property.” A human body, a real, true, actual being, straddled his hips. Breathed against his neck. Held him. _Real_. “And I’m the only one who can truly accept you.”

“ _I know you_.”

Ford could faintly see Bill’s triangular silhouette through his tears. “That’s it, Fordsy,” the voice echoed, its tone mockingly sweet. “Come on now. Tick tock. You know the drill. Give me the equation, and you’ll finally have the freedom you deserve.”

He was tired. Tired of being weak, guilt-ridden, an alien in the eyes of his loved ones. He couldn’t stand another second of it, nor the headache, the nausea, the sickening pain, anything that was _real_. If _this_ was real, he didn’t want it. He didn’t care. He would redefine reality himself.

His lips moved, formed words without him fully realizing it.

Bill’s eye shone with glee. A hand patted his bloodied cheek, gently, and then he was free. Free, free, _free_.

He smiled weakly as he felt reality dissolve, giving way to a world of blissful falsehood.

And he welcomed it with open arms.


End file.
